


Internalized

by mmmargo



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 11x07, A little bit of angst, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Past Rape/Non-con, fill in, post 11x07, shameless 11x07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmargo/pseuds/mmmargo
Summary: mickey realizes some things about his neighborhoodorI wanted to talk about mickeys internalized homophobia and it spiraled into them deciding to move to the westside
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 4
Kudos: 140





	Internalized

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, this was meant to be a short drabble about mickey and ians internalized homophobia but then my adhd was like 💖 no 💖 and turned it into whatever the fuck this so enjoy

“So, where were you all day?” Sandy asks her cousin as she takes a long drag of her cigarette. 

  


The pair sit side by side on the Gallagher porch. The yelling inside had died down after Lip was hauled off by the cops. They just want to question him but he knows the whole ordeal was and currently still is scary for Ian. Knowing his brother is going off the deep end but being powerless and incapable to help is probably one of his worst nightmares. So, while Ian stayed inside and cleaned up after Lip’s mess, busy in his own head, Mickey headed out with Sandy because he knew Ian needed some time to think. The uncertainty is the thing that’s killing his husband the most, the what-if of it all. Though the reason Sandy is sitting next to him is less complicated. She wanted to wait for Debbie to return so they could have a conversation about whatever dyke-drama they had going on. So they both sit down and catch up with each other. 

  


Sandy opens the beer bottle and hands it to Mickey. He takes it, placing it next to him on the steps of the Gallagher porch. It’s a weird thought, the idea that this may be one of the last times he sits here. He remembers sitting on these very steps, deciding whether or not he and Ian would want to remain monogamous. He also remembers watching Ian break his heart with tears in his eyes right before being chased into an alley by a crazed Sammi. He shakes his head and responds to the question. 

  


“Looking for gays,” he states bluntly, not bothering to elaborate. 

  


“Fucking pardon?” Sandy chuckles, taking a sip of her own beer. 

  


“Ian wanted to make some gay friends so we tried to find some,” he’s not sure if they actually accomplished that goal but they decided it was fine not to have a lot of friends for now. They’re getting better at the whole communication thing, Mickey thinks with pride. 

  


“Uh-huh, and how did that go?” 

  


“Went to an orgy and drank some expensive wine so I’d say pretty good,” Mickey thinks back on the day’s events, smiling at the thought of doing it all with his  husband. 

  


“For sure, sounds great. So do you think you’re gonna be exchanging friendship bracelets with any of those guys?” 

  


“Fuck no. We decided that if we have sex with them, then we can’t be friends with them. Besides, even if that wasn’t a rule, those fags are way too fucking gay,” the men they meant were just too much, talking about Lady Gaga and cushions and fashion and all that shit. Too frilly. Too faggy. 

  


“Isn’t that the point, numbnuts? To be friends with gay people?” 

  


Mickey scrunches up his eyebrows at her incredulous tone, “Didn’t you hear me? They were  too gay, like the whole frilly, girly shit. The whole,” he flails his hand around and mocks them, “with the meh and the bleh.” he shakes his shoulders, mimicking a shudder. 

  


“Dude, you’re so homophobic.”

  


Mickey scoffs, “Am not. Can’t be homophobic if you’re gay, bitch.” 

  


“That’s not what I mean. I mean you got some serious internalized homophobia kinda shit,” she laughs at the joke that Mickey isn’t in on. It makes him uncomfortable in a way he usually isn’t with Sandy. 

  


“What the fuck is that?” 

  


“Internalized homophobia. You know, like you hate other queer people even though you yourself are gay. It’s normal for someone like you, with all the hate Terry spieled, I’m surprised I’m as okay as I am with it.” Again, she says it like it’s obvious. 

  


He starts thinking about other gay people. It’s not being gay that he hates, liking cock isn’t the problem, it’s all the feminine shit, then shoving it in your face and being so fucking faggy about it-

  


Oh

  


“Well that’s not-I don’t hate all gay people. I don’t hate you. I don’t hate Ian. Ian even fucking agreed with me about it being annoying,” he points out. Ian did say that not every gay dude is like how Mickey thinks but then agreed with him about how annoying the men they meant with were. 

  


“One, asshole, I don’t count, I’m a lesbian and I’m not particularly femme. And two, Ian doesn’t count either because he’s your husband  and  he isn’t feminine. Plus, Ian agreeing with you on it only proves my point, you both have issues with feminine gay guys.” 

  


Mickey blinks at her. 

  


“It’s not your fault or anything. I mean, look around you, everywhere you look there’s someone shitting on a man for not being masculine enough or strong enough. Like, when Franny cut her hair, ‘member? People looked at her not wanting to wear dresses and do the princess shit as weird ‘cause we’ve all been conditioned to think that men and women act a certain way,” Sandy sips her drink. 

  


“What are you a fucking therapist now? Jesus,” Mickey crosses his arms and holds himself. 

  


He’s supposed to be fine now. He’s supposed to be okay with all his shit. He’s married to his best friend and the love of his life. They're moving out and getting their own place. They’re starting a life together, it’s supposed to be okay now. They shouldn’t have to deal with this shit anymore. 

  


Why do we always have to be so fucked up? 

  


“That shit doesn’t just go away when you get married, Mickey.”

  


He snaps his head up. He didn’t realize he had said that last bit out loud. 

  


“Well, it should.” Mickey knew he sounded juvenile. 

  


“Tough titties, right, Mick?” 

  


Mickey flips her off and picks up his beer bottle, bringing it to his lips, he takes a big gulp. 

  


She looks at him with an odd expression. Almost like she sees through him. Sandy and Ian are seemingly the only people in the world who can take one look at him and read his mind. 

  


“Listen, we live in a fucked up neighborhood, we lived in a fucked up house that fucked us even more. I was fifteen and married to a thirty-year-old. Everyone in that house is fucked up too," she gestures behind her at the dim light coming from the windows, "You’re not alone in this, you know. ‘S hard to unlearn a lot of that shit.”

  


“Well, I don’t fucking like that.”

  


“Not supposed to, bitch. I don’t know, man, we all got stuff. Talk to your man about it or whatever. Got to go, I don’t think Debs is coming back anytime soon so,” she gets up and walks back into the house. She would probably go back and take Franny to bed. Mickey wonders idly how that happened. How had Sandy become a mother to that kid so quickly? He wonders how she got so good at it since her only experience has been with that pedo’s kid. He starts going through his head, running an odd simulation of what he and Ian would be like if they had kids. Ian would be amazing at it, he’d be a fucking super dad but he’s not so sure about himself. He’s not so sure about the neighborhood either. 

  


Kids are something they’ve talked about before, a daydream, a small conversation they had a couple of minutes before their wedding when they were hopped up on glee. Ian wants kids, one or two he said, and Mickey knows it’s physically impossible for him to say no to Ian when he wants something.

  


Anxiety curls in his throat, what if the internalized thing sticks with him? What if he spreads that shit to their kids? What if he fucks them up for life like he is?

  


Then he thinks about the other thing Sandy said.  Their neighborhood.

  


Ian’s family accepted him, loved him. But he’s still fucked up. While Frank was no walk in the park, he didn’t care about him being gay. Hell, he even came to their wedding. So maybe it’s not just him or his family. Maybe it's their neighborhood telling them this shit. 

  


Ian wants to start a family with him, he wants that too but he can’t stop the fear of what the future could hold. 

  


This is fucking stupid,  he thinks and gulps down his beer. 

  


He stands up and looks around the neighborhood he grew up in. It’s not exactly a nice one but it’s his. But maybe it would be nice to look somewhere else, somewhere a little better where gangs and drive-by shootings don’t frequent the area. Maybe Lip was right about their kids needing to grow up somewhere better. 

  


He turns around and heads inside. The living room is now empty except for Carl. He’s sitting on the couch and watching T.V. with his feet up. 

  


“Ian go upstairs?” 

  


Carl turns suddenly, almost spilling his drink in the process, “Christ, um, yeah, I think.”

  


“Cool,” he turns to walk up the stairs. 

  


“Hey, Mickey,” Mickey lets out a sigh and looks back at him.

  


“What?” It comes out much sharper than he intended but Carl doesn’t seem to notice. 

  


“Do you really not think I was raped? I’m fucking confused about it.”

  


The question takes Mickey by surprise, “Why don’t you ask Lip or Ian or something. I’m not exactly equipped to handle that sort of shit.” 

  


He doesn’t say no, he doesn’t think he was raped. When he said it earlier, Ian looked at him funny and he’s not in the mood to get looked at like that. 

  


“I guess but they’re not around. I mean, I didn’t want to have sex without a condom. But she said she’s allergic to latex so…” he trails off and scrunches up his face. 

  


“Well did she fucking tell you that?” 

  


“No, she didn’t explain why she didn’t want to. But she’s allergic so maybe I should have asked.”

  


Mickey isn’t sure why he suddenly feels protective, why there is a small amount of rage growing in his chest, spreading through his body like fire. Not for Carl though. For Fish or whatever the hell her name is. 

  


“She didn’t fucking tell you why and she just jumped on you, yeah? That‘s fucked up.”

  


Carl is silent for a few seconds, “I didn’t know dudes could be raped.”

  


Mickey’s skin feels itchy and he isn’t sure what to do with his hands. His breathing becomes tight and his pulse starts to race. He doesn’t think it’s only anger, the majority seems to be panic. He remembers Svetlana and her overwhelming perfume and loud Russian voice. He remembers the gun pressing against his temple and Ian’s tears streaming down his face. He remembers his father’s voice in his ear telling him she was going to fuck the faggot out of him. 

  


But he wasn’t raped. No, no, he wasn’t. That’s not what that was. It couldn't be. 

  


Men don’t get raped. That’s what he’s been told. All his life. By his father. By his neighborhood. 

  


“I don’t know,” he said finally. 

  


Carl shrugs and turns back around to face the T.V. while Mickey stands there in his own bubble of uncertainty. 

  


He walks up to his and Ian’s room while his mind starts to race. His neighborhood taught him to hate himself, hate people like him. His neighborhood taught him that his trauma doesn’t matter. His neighborhood is teaching other people, people he cares about, the same thing. 

  


The Southside has always been a part of his life. It will always be in him, it's not all sunshine and rainbows, but it's  his and he's proud.  It's engraved in his mind and inked under his skin. But sometimes it twists his gut and makes him sick. Thorny vines coil around his skin and pierce his flesh, drawing permanent scars all over his body in a messy mosaic of painful memories and triumphant fights. He tries to focus on the triumph, he tries to focus on the nights spent with Ian under the stars in their hide-away. But then he always remembers  why they had to hide. 

  


It wasn't all bad but he certainly wouldn't ask to do it twice. 

  


When he gets to their room, Ian is splayed out on the bed, legs and arms spread out, his eyes are closed and his breathing is even. 

  


Mickey would laugh if he wasn’t having a fucking grand meltdown in his head. 

  


Instead, he just stares at his husband’s chest, rising and falling. Then he cleared his throat too loudly and Ian bolts upright, “Fuck!”

  


“Why the hell is everyone around here so jumpy all the time,” he makes his way to bed, sitting down on the area not covered by Ian’s spider legs. 

  


“Fucking excuse me but my brother might be going to jail,” there’s no humor in Ian’s voice. Mickey is sure he tries though, but it doesn’t quite make it there. 

  


“You don’t know that. They just wanna talk, they’re not putting him in handcuffs and a jumpsuit just yet.”

  


Ian shifts and sits behind him. With his chest now against Mickey’s back, he wraps his arms around him, nestling his chin in the crook of his neck. 

  


“Still scary though,” Ian whispers. 

  


Mickey’s heart clenches at the vulnerability in his voice. He moves his hands over Ian’s arms, just holding them. 

  


“That’s ‘cause you’re a pussy,” he feels Ian breathe out a laugh against his neck, it makes him shiver. 

“Thanks, Mick,” it sounds sarcastic but it’s not meant to be. Ian is genuinely thanking him for lightening the mood, comforting him without babying him. 

  


They’re silent for a little while, just letting each other be here, feeling each other. 

  


“You had a good time, right? It was nice, right?” Mickey asks, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Ian’s. 

  


“Yeah, Fucking perfect, you know, besides the whole Lip thing.”

  


“Did you like those guys? The dudes we fucked?” 

  


“They were pretty good, Mick. Not as good as you, though,” he feels the smirk against his neck and Ian moves his hand down to his jeans. 

  


“Hey, that’s not what I meant. Like, I know you want some friends like us but-” Mickey tries and fails to find a good way to bring it up. The internalized thing. He’s unsure why it stuck with him. Why he’s suddenly thinking about how fucked up the neighborhood has made them. 

  


“But what?” 

  


“Sandy said some shit-uh-fucking internalized homophobia thing. She said we have it cause of the neighborhood or whatever,” Mickey stumbles his way through the sentence. 

  


Ian doesn’t respond immediately, he just ponders for a while, humming idly, “I guess we do sort of jump to conclusions a little bit. I’ve never really noticed it. Why are you bringing that shit up?” 

  


Mickey shrugs, “Just thinking about the neighborhood, I guess. I mean this place really fucked us, didn’t it?” 

  


Ian laughs and removes his arms from around Mickey’s body, suddenly, he feels bare, too exposed and vulnerable. He goes stiff, Ian seems to take notice of this and lays back flat on the bed, he motions with one hand for Mickey to lay back with him. Mickey follows, positioning himself comfortably against Ian’s chest. 

  


“It did. I think we both know the Southside is shit, though,” Ian stops and scrunches up his face, “Wait, are you thinking about what Lip said? About going somewhere better?” 

  


Mickey shrugs, “I guess, I don’t know. It’s whatever. Like, yeah my dad was shit and all that-”

  


“Understatement of the year.”

  


“Shut up. But your family was supportive, right? Didn’t fucking throw around all the threats and shit, and you still got shit about being gay. I’m just fucking thinking. Like, we’re gonna move out, like at some point, even if your fucking brother doesn’t sell the house, why not move to a place that won’t fuck up our kids?” 

  


Ian snaps his head towards Mickey and a wide grin spreads across his face, “ Our  kids?” 

  


Mickey’s mouth shoots closed and his face goes red and hot, “That’s not-I mean eventually maybe yeah. I-I fucking figured at some point. Whatever, our kids if we have them.” 

  


“Mickey, stop, it’s cute. You’re worried about fucking up  our kids .”

  


“Okay, stop, fuckface-”

  


Ian shifts and leans his body over Mickey’s, sliding over top of him, placing kisses all around his face, “You’re just so sweet. Big softie.”

  


“Christ, I hate you-”

  


“You just care about our imaginary kids so much, don’t you?” Ian moves down to his collarbone and presses his lips to there.

  


“I’m gonna divorce you, don’t test me, asshole-”

  


“God, you’re gonna be such a good dad,” Ian presses a kiss to his stomach. 

  


Mickey’s breath catches in his throat and a pleasant shiver runs down his spine, he can’t bring himself to shove Ian away, instead he snakes his arms around Ian’s backside and pulls him closer, “Fuck off,” he whispers gently. 

  


Ian rests his face on Mickey’s stomach, humming happily while Mickey runs his fingers through his short hair. 

  


“It is really sweet, Mick. But, just so I’m clear, you wanna move out of the Southside permanently? Like immediately? Instead of looking for an apartment here, we'll look somewhere else, right?” 

  


Mickey thinks for a minute, he’s not sure what exactly he wants but that sounds pretty close. Starting a life with Ian always sounds pretty good. 

  


“I guess, yeah. Maybe, like, not fucking Northside, but somewhere else. Still in Chicago though, I’m not moving my ass to Wisconsin for you.” Mickey laughs but knows it’s a lie. Even if he didn’t love the idea, if that’s what Ian wanted then he would move all the way to Mexico again. It’s scary what he would do for Ian. It's terrifying but the thing is, Ian would never make him do something he hated, he would never humiliate him, never abuse that power. They have that trust and understanding. 

  


“What about the Westside? One of the guys we were with was talking about it. He had just moved from there. It’s not as trashy as the Southside but not as fancy as the Northside.”

  


When Ian spoke, it sent comforting vibrations all through Mickey’s skin, he closed his eyes and hummed a response, “As long as I’m not gonna see yoga studios and smoothie bars everywhere I look, ‘k?” 

  


Ian nodded against his stomach, “Sure, Mick.”

  


Mickey feels himself slowly falling into darkness, the weight against his stomach like a warm blanket and the sound of people lightly talking downstairs working together to lull him to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! open to criticism!


End file.
